Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of Elara’s workshop, mirroring the tempest inside her. She held the patent document, the crisp paper already starting to soften at the edges from her dampening grip. The drawing, so meticulously rendered, so perfectly describing *her* invention, a device to harvest atmospheric water, was…not hers. The inventor's name, 'Marcus Thorne,' seemed to mock her with its bold, confident font.

A coldness settled in her stomach. She’d spent three years, countless nights fueled by lukewarm coffee and frantic scribbles, pouring her heart into this. Now, all that remained was a feeling of hollowness. She sat down, letting the weight of the document pull her shoulders forward.

She closed her eyes, imagining Thorne – probably a man of privilege, with resources she could only dream of – benefiting from her labor. She pictured him already making deals, securing funding, laughing. A tight knot formed in her chest.